I have de-lurked having RTFT because this is a subject very pertinent to my life at the moment.
Phrase that encapsulates the OP's attitude quite nicely in my opinion is "the way to hell is paved by good intentions."
I spent my teenage years living with my parents in my grandmothers (spacious) flat - her needs were driven by COPD and associated frailty - no demntia thank God, but even so it did put a strain on all family relationships.
My partner and I are noth only children and we have six parents between us - the laundry list goes like this:
My DM - terminal gynaecological cancer (currently managed well and she is very tired but self-sufficient - we live close enough to be able to drop everything as does my adult son - her only grandchild).
My DF - splenic lymphoma, heart issues - four stents down so far - new lymphomas being treated on a "wait and see basis" - he will be 80 this year. reasonably chipper, still drives, is local.
My DSM - long term sever mental health condition only revealed in the last ten years after it's excellent management got de-railed by a medication change - leading to two sectionings and precipitating my fathers first massive heart attack as he was her carer - I was assisting but had teenagers doing GCSE's and was caring for my now ex -H who was a disabled biker....... my DSM now has the onset of vascular dementia......
D"FIL" - stable after throat cancer, being assessed for stomach cancer - frail and a bit of an alcoholic.
D"SMIL" - cares for above - they have got themselves into warden assisted accomodation and live Home Counties way about two / three hours from us. Only one major crisis requiring emergency trips in the last few years thankfully.
D"MIL" - This one was the kicker - lived with us for 18 months after a diagnosis of Alzheimer's - it took about 6 months of persuasion and weekly trips for my DP as she lived on the IOW to persuade her that she could no longer live alone (lack of self-care and depression of diagnosis plus inability to mane appliances even though she was still choerent and had capacity). We lived in a "shared house" with my adult sons and another lodger who helped when they could, I was working full time up until she arrived, then went part-time as my DP has a flexible nich market job and works afternoons anyway - I worked mornings and then came back to cover afternoons. As it became obvious she could no longer be alone for even short periods as it was distressing for her, we opened a retail outlet so i would have a "job" to fall back on and be able to have her with me - also good for socialisation and stimulation. All sounds good, no? Actually - no. Disturbed nights. Endless looping conversations about how shit having Alzheimers is. Suicidal thoughts. We did a ten week carers course. On the first session, as the ten people in the room all introduced themselves and explained a bit about their situation the first sounds that came out of their mouths were sobs. We were the youngest, in our late 40s.
At the 18 month mark, as incontinence kicked in and ten months of the shop situation had deteriorated as she started wandering and falling even on safe surfaces, we arranged residentail care. Shit, i can't even write this without wanting to howl at the memory of taking her there, and her fear..... and there I am giving them all the tips about how to coax her into bathing, how she liked her food arranged, the music she liked while my DP sobbed and chainsmoked in the car park, where I shortly joined him.
She's been there two years now. We hardly visit because she doesn't recognise us and it's almost impossible to have any sort of rapport because we are "strangers". DP rings regularly - they are doing routine medical tests at the moment for her physical health. She is only 74. When i met her she was a vibrant gardening WI attending lady who lunched with a 'boyfriend" and a wicked sense of humour. She is now unrecognisable. As DP says, she has now "left the building".
DP and I are now borderline alcoholics with a whole bunch of unhealthy coping mechanisms for guilt and fear as we wait to play "geriatric roulette" - which one will need us first - what if more than one has a crisis at the same time?
My mother has said she'd rather die than move in with me - looks likely anyway and this is said with all the love - we are extremely close and she wouldn't want to see me go through everything again as I did with MIL.
I will always, always have the love in my heart to do whatever I can to help and comfort all of them but I am now 50 and I can't, without losing my DP completely, and any hope of financial independence for our own retirement. I would also rather die than have my lovely son, who really would if he had to, care for me and see me vanish in front of his eyes.
The idea of not "wanting" to care for elderly relatives is meaningless really - caring is driven often by necessity - no-one who claims they WANT to nurse someone in rapid decline is being 100% honest unless they have some sort of complex by which they are emotionally validated by doing so - in which case it is about their own needs not those of the person they are caring for to a degree (am prepared to be flamed for this but posts about the privilege of being able to return the caring favour make me see red.)
Yes, my humour is probably too black, too gallows, but you know what, my "caring" privilege has left me with a damaged relationship, high anxiety for the future and probably a good dose of reactive depression.
And the bottom line is that the recipient of my largesse is in a special hell for which there is no cure and that no-one can ease; i wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
Sorry for the rant. (Not sorry).